> South Eplas Trading Company
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> Assets & roster
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> Founded in the winter of 194 NC.
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> Circa 195 NC (3401 IC)
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> Axiom
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> Cir Tenya (translated -the ships shall arrive)
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> or the more colloquial & slightly threatening ‘nothing stops the freights’
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> and the humorous 'Fer King & Coin'
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>
> -
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> Ruling Board of Directors
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> Doris Alden (acting from 195 NC)
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> Master Luvon (First Signature)
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> Arguen Garth (Majority shareholder)
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> Flardryn (1st Marine, Admiral of SETC, Military Director, Galleass Arassil/Flagship)
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> Lanthdor (Captain, Galleass Lassel*)
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>
>
> ----------------------------------------
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> *Plus the Galleasses Delgarandis and Peniril on loan from the Imperial Navy.
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>
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>
> Also,
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> Four large transports (+ six brigs under Archibald ‘Birdseye’ Tidus). Shamil Al-Bagi was serving under Tidus as lookout. The Luzi Hokar native had joined the crew in Fu De-Gar, after working the desert route assisting a caravan hand for a year, in order to pay the entry fee imposed by the Company's recruiting center at Ani Ta-Ne (per Metu's decree), initially believing he’d joined the Imperial Navy.
>
> 2 units of Imperial Marines (the 9th and 13th) of around a hundred soldiers each.
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> Leader Mirthral (for the 13th)
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> Leader Gonodir (for the 9th)
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> (The 7th was in Rain Minas with Lefyr and the 11th with the 12th in Ani Tan-Ne to assist Roran’s 1st Othrim. Flardryn’s training efforts would double the strength of the Imperial Navy’s fighting personnel before 197 NC)
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> Around four hundred sailors initially (mostly humans)
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>
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> Four more Galleasses were added until 197 NC (after the construction of the catamaran-type Galleass for the navy, a two parallel twin-hull monstrosity) and an additional four transports. SETC would balloon in size during the turbulent period of the Wine Wars and around 200 NC (3406 IC) it would operate one of the largest fleets in the Scalding Sea, with over twenty thousand employees. With a naval yard under its control (Mussel) and many big or smaller controlled ports SETC will keep swallowing ‘uncontested’ territory during the Great War, whenever opportunity arose until the 2nd Banking Act of 209 NC. The latter imposed the rule of ‘Six kilometers’ that placed a limit to the inland penetration of SETC’s ‘safe trade havens’. An esoteric moniker for its sprouting ports in honor of the company’s base of operations the ‘Safe Sojourn’. The first fully operating port on the Sinking Isles, centuries after the migrating Issirs had vacated the now ruined Issir Star, the massive natural harbor inside Armada’s Gulf.
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Glen
Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
Duath Erin I Menel
Malantur O’ Furu
Rhu Fareno
SETC | Safe Sojourn
Part I
-The Banking Act of 194-195*
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*colloquially known as the ‘Rule of Three’.
** For South Eplas Trading Company.
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image [https://i.postimg.cc/7xsZRcmh/Trade-routes.jpg]
South Seas Trade Routes (Old Eplas Route, the three legs of the Coin Route & SETC's initial explorations
Storm-feet galloped fast down the empty street until they reached the two massive old kingdom towers. Glen decided to turn them west there and into the ‘inner’ district of Taras. They skirted the walls in the absolute darkness and then turned north again to follow one of the vertical roads that led eventually near the Phalanx Camp. Afterwards the Monarch reached the main road that headed towards the Morn Taras plateau, where he finally allowed Storm-feet to take over for the rest of the journey at a gentler trot.
Early the next morning he was back inside Morn Taras’ walls, after a brief talk with the dumbfounded west gates guards, who had just been alerted that the Monarch was missing for the whole day.
Hagen was the first man from his close circle to greet him inside the yard and soon after Sir Kirk arrived as well. Samak and Hesam were resting and Troy was still in Mussel with the 2nd Othrim.
“Alan,” a tired Glen said. Glen was on his last legs, as he had been without any real sleep for five days and had burned whatever he’d left in reserve fighting thugs in side-alleys hours prior. “I need to catch a bit of shuteye friend.”
“It’s still early sire,” Alan Kirk agreed. “I’ll see to push the appointments for later.”
“Good. At least a couple of hours,” Glen urged him and then gave the reins of his horse to Rama.
“Illustrious Caliph,” Rama started, while Glen yawned almost dislocating his jaws. “We can now mate the Ostriches.”
Uhm.
“Eh, why do we want that?”
“The celebrated Inis-Mir wishes them living in the late Lady Sovereign’s gardens.”
“Put a lid on that,” Glen groaned in the attempt to stretch his hurting back. “Just keep those mean birds in the stables for now.”
“What about—?”
Glen cut him off with a curt gesture. “I can’t devote any more time to this Rama. Go feed Raro, I can hear the lion growling.”
“Of course great Arguen Garth.” Rama replied with a deep bow of the head.
Glen nodded and climbed up the stairs to reach the citadel’s entrance, with a glance at the south tower where Lithoniela had stayed the previous nights.
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The Monarch found a half-divan in the room just behind the Throne Hall, and collapsed there with Hagen resting in an armchair a couple of meters away. Glen slept like a rock and was forced awake by Hagen sometime later, now in the company of the long-faced Rimeros.
“Fuck. You’re not a sight for sore eyes fer sure,” Glen croaked feeling more-tired than before. “How much time has passed ye cretins?”
“Two hours milord.”
Glen glared at the getting pretty round in the face Hagen. “Couldn’t you arseholes give me a couple of minutes more?”
“Ahm. Hardir, you’ve lost a lot of meetings yesterday and you have more setup for today,” Rimeros explained. “There is also some speculation as to where you’ve been, given that the wyvern remained at Morn Taras.”
“None of yer business,” Glen retorted and then stretched both arms groaning loudly. “I need a good breakfast. Find Atju.”
“He’s in the kitchens. Some type of food is probably on its way,” Rimeros explained, maintaining his expression. “The Monarch should tackle these meetings today.”
“Why?”
“Some of them are time sensitive your grace.”
Glen sighed and gestured for Rimeros to go and get everything ready.
“Hagen, if someone ever offers you a throne, know that its one of the most demanding jobs available. Steer clear,” Glen told his bodyguard.
“I don’t believe too-many folk can have the opportunity milord,” Hagen mildly-disagreed, but Glen wasn’t listening to him.
“That’s why,” he replied with a nod. Glen was thinking of his ‘plan’ to woo the alluring healer. He could now see that it was a poorly thought-out endeavor, given that Glen was a public figure. Now folk didn’t exactly knew how Glen looked, nor spot him right-away in a crowd, or outside of the palace, but many could figure it out given that the palace personnel knew Glen very well and was always around.
The biggest problem of course being that Moira was friends with Lith and Jinx. Now they could recognize Glen even with a beard on. Well… maybe not immediately, but still this couldn’t last.
I could maybe get Folen to buy property in Taras, put her there for now... damn it, the east tower was the better option all along! Good and secure, out of the way place, with thick doors and sturdy iron locks. Uhm. Pretty safe also…
“Yes?” Glen asked seeing Rimeros return troubled.
“We have a request from Master Luvon for a closed session of the Monarch’s Council,” Rimeros informed him. “Master Cinna, Master Alden were also read in, with the addition of Mirthral, the imperial marines’ officer.”
“Is that Flandryn’s adjutant?”
“Second in the Marines,” Rimeros elucidated.
“Whatever,” Glen retorted. “What about? Most of the Council is away at this time.”
“We don’t need the rest of the Council. The Company is ready to propose a plan of action Hardir. It is a trade matter, but the Monarch must be aware of their actions.”
Ah.
“Today?”
“Right away. We need to take advantage of the approaching summer,” Rimeros replied stiffly leaving little room to maneuver out of it.
Glen gave Hagen a knowing look. “I’ll be right there.”
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Luvon was a Zilan with somber purple eyes, very-pale skin, and a long face. A head shorter than Glen, he was a reedy well-dressed individual, clad in a dark-red Issir-type redingote and austere black velvet pants. He had his blue hair cut short at the sides, and well-combed with palm oil.
Glen greeted him with a nod and briefly addressed everyone at the conference table located twenty meters from the elevated stone throne and ten meters from the last row of columns on the east side of the great Hall. The sound of Vulreon’s quill scratching at the page accompanying his words.
“I haven’t had much sleep gents,” the Monarch said gruffly. “A matter of the outmost importance needed my personal touch yesterday,” Glen paused which gave Luvon the chance to comment.
“Will it affect the markets sire?”
Glen stared numbly at the director of Goras’ bank.
“I don’t believe it will. It was more… of a personal discomfort.”
“That’s great my Lord. I hope it goes away.”
“It has,” Glen agreed in a courtly manner, a little unsure whether the Zilan was mocking him. “You called for the meeting Master Luvon. You have the floor.”
“As the Monarch is aware,” Luvon started immediately, while Sir Alan Kirk had Hesam and Samak erect three large map-stands near their table, where they unfurled three large pieces of the same map basically. At almost seven meters in width and five in height it was one of the bigger vellum maps Glen had even seen. Samak just folded the upper parts of the map over the top edge of the stands standing on a high ladder. “I’ve met with the representatives of the two human banks,” Luvon continued. “To discuss the matter of product prices, product market primacy and mercantile routes ownership.”
“Was there an agreement?” Glen had always trouble following those bureaucrats and their ideas. The more they liked something, the more tedious it usually was.
“Yes and no Lord Garth. We have agreed that given the distance involved, no regulatory agency can be trusted to have the means, or willingness, to enforce a just flow of profit for each party involved.” Glen blinked almost nauseous in the attempt to follow the Zilan’s word salad, delivered in brutal Common accent for the humans in attendance. Glen clenched his jaw to combat the splitting headache and endure the verbal torture for as long as he could. “With at least three grievances from multiple parties, in this case price, priority and route being in question, the Banks agree that the rule of three things can be applied, seeing as it is a historical well-recognized manner of solving disputes between arguing parties.”
“What if there were four things?” Glen asked with an indignant grunt.
“Then this would have been the rule of four things Lord Garth,” Luvon replied inflexibly.
“Obviously,” Glen agreed mockingly and stared at Doris Alden, the former Duke watching their exchange with great interest. “So we get to… proceed?”
“As long as we can protect our goods Arguen Garth.”
“Right then. With that cleared,” Glen said and clapped his hands once, despite not fully grasping what the bankers had agreed. “This gives our syndicate the chance to carry on as we’ve agreed, yes?”
Doris Alden cleared his throat and stood up from his chair. “The Trade Company of South Eplas,” the former Duke started. Doris was put in the board of Directors by Glen, to give him something to do and because everyone agreed Doris knew the human kingdoms better than anyone else. That said, Glen quickly interrupted the adopting the palace Zilan dress-code Lorian.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Is this a correction mister Alden, or a presentation?” Glen asked in a lordly manner.
“It is both your grace,” Doris deadpanned, a braver man than what his face would have you believe with a snobbish-type of humor.
“Proceed,” Glen hissed.
“The Trade Company—” Doris started, but he was again interrupted by Luvon.
“For sponsoring reasons we have coined the term South Eplas Trading Company fellow director. Abbreviated SETC,” Luvon explained and slid a square lapel pin over the table towards Glen. The Monarch read the gold engraved initials amused.
“SETC,” Doris tried again, with a tensed smile forming. “Needs three things also to operate properly your grace. Superior local goods, which we possess with our Goras wine and the peninsula…”
He paused as Luvon had stooped forward to speak again.
“Monarch I have a formal petition from Sinya Goras’ district to rename—”
Glen cut the banker off with an impatient gesture. “Just let him speak for crying out loud!”
“I was merely getting the facts in order,” Luvon argued calmly.
Glen grinded his teeth and eyed the still standing Doris.
“The second is means of transportation which we currently have partially solved, with four ships capable of making the journey and two galleass’ attached to the SETC fleet. Rybel has four more under construction, but we have agreed that an additional ten—”
This time it was Laius Cinna that interrupted his former boss. “Your grace, we can’t possibly finance, or dedicate the naval yards full capacity for the company’s needs. The additional warships must come from Mussel and I’ve talked to Master Rybel about it already.”
“No agreement was reached Laius,” Doris argued. “Mussel needs at least a year to be even remotely capable to produce a brig, let alone a galleass.”
“One third of the yards annual ship tonnage, with the bank shouldering the financial burden,” Cinna countered, with Glen opting to let them fight it out for the time being.
“The Bank needs the trade route to ensure it has coin to reinvest in the company,” Luvon said adamantly.
“You sold shares to the Sopat at a premium,” Cinna argued. “Got to use the prisoners for free at Mussel and have received the bulk of your fleet as gift from the Monarch.”
Glen furrowed his brows and looked at the blank-faced Luvon.
“The Monarch’s gift is represented in his number of shares in the Company,” Luvon countered with a reassuring glance at the concerned Glen. “But with less than half of our products unable to make profit, or written off, we’re operating currently at a loss for the second straight year.”
“The year is not over yet,” Cinna hissed with a glare at the banker.
“The projections are dire,” Luvon countered. “I’ve run the numbers Master Cinna.”
“Why are we at such a loss?” Glen asked and Doris got his opportunity to finish.
“The third need of SETC,” Doris said maintaining his professionalism under pressure, while Luvon with Cinna exchanged various scrolls packed with scribbled numbers. “Is the trade routes themselves. We currently load our products in Sinya Goras, travel to Eikenport to pick up the Desert Route Cofol goods that haven’t opted to head for Rida’s port, and then follow the coast east. Across the Krakentrap Straits, or with a stop at Lord’s Burrow, to Castalor and Scaldingport. Castalor wasn’t open until very recently.”
“Go on,” Glen urged him.
“From the moment our goods are unloaded in port, they have to travel over land towards Regia and Lesia, then the North and at some point to the rest of Kaltha.”
Glen glanced at the large unfurled map, with lots of blue in it, and Alan Kirk used a straight pointer to show the route to everyone present.
“These caravans, big and small, are subject to heavy taxation, tariffs and outright blackmail from local authorities and common noble thugs. By the time our goods reach their final destination, the price is forbidding and most of our profits lost. In order to combat that, we need to shorten ‘this hostile part’ of the journey, effectively delivering the product closer to the bigger markets at the heart of both Kingdoms. For the Northern markets we can do nothing but endure it for the moment.”
“We have discussed this already.”
“Aye that’s true, your grace,” Doris grimaced. “Admiral Flardryn had a solution proposed. Mirthral, if you be so kind,” the former Duke said and a wiry Zilan in Imperial Marine leather armour approached their table. He walked to Alan Kirk and took the pointer from him. The Zilan used it to ‘carve’ a line from Mussel to the Sinking Isles, across the deep dark blue to a tiny spot on the map and then finally all the way –over another stretch of pure blue- to another small island chain that faced the Lorian Coast.
“This is the ancient ‘Dark Tapestry Trail’,” Mirthral started in Imperial, which made Doris and Cinna to squint their eyes. Perhaps they had trouble seeing also, given that Glen could barely discern the details from three meters away. The Monarch stood up from his chair to approach the maps. “We can use it to reach Jelin undetected and deliver the goods closer to the bigger markets of Cartagen, Cediorum and Armium.”
“Why Dark?” Glen asked standing next to Alan Kirk, hands clasped behind his back.
“We’ll cross Abrakas Gullet Hardir,” the officer explained and Glen nodded, trying to read the map and failing given the tiny scribblings in Imperial.
“Let’s give it another less ominous name,” Glen ordered to buy himself some time and when he failed again to read the tiny script, he asked in frustration. “What is this thing then?”
“The Sinking Isles,” Mirthral replied and pointed his stick at the map.
“That’s a lot of isles fer sure,” Glen noted with a grimace. “Is that what is left?”
“They are named thus due to their high tides Hardir.”
Ah.
“Obviously,” Glen grunted.
“This is Lady Jinx’s home,” Alan Kirk said and showed him one of the bigger ones. “Ducuril.”
“How do you know that?” Glen asked.
“I asked her milord?”
The Monarch hadn’t in all the years he knew the Gish.
Glen sucked air in through the nose audibly, a little embarrassed, but unwilling to take any of the blame. Had Whisper wanted him to know this, she would have offered it. This is a matter of respecting her wishes. Aye. “Yeah, I knew that Alan,” Glen said instead, since no one would have believed the former.
“Now, we want to avoid the reefs and currents surrounding the main isles per Nevarth,’ Mirthral continued, but Glen had to stop him again.
“Who’s he?”
“The famous explorer?”
“Not to me,” Glen noted stiffly and Cinna with Doris nodded as well.
“Apologies. Captain Nevarth also mapped the edges of the unknown ocean around 2175. While his earlier journals were lost, the navy has kept many of his more recent findings as part of basic officer training.”
Recent in this context had to be stretched a lot, Glen thought sourly.
“The bloke is still around…?”
“Unfortunately not. He was stationed at the naval yards in Elauthin,” Mirthral replied.
Which was a polite way to say that Nevarth was still there.
Deep in the sunken harbor.
“Of course,” Glen yielded.
“Our Lanthdor served under him,” Mirthral elucidated. “He’s commanding the 9th Marine aboard the Lassel.”
They didn’t have so many marine units of course. But the surviving soldiers had kept the old unit names. 9th, 7th and 11th to 13th, for a total of five under Flardryn, with about a hundred men per unit.
“The she-leaf?” Glen translated.
“It’s a warship Hardir.”
“Obviously,” Glen hissed through his teeth. “Go on friend.”
“The best case for that is this outer islands ring facing to the northeast. Tits Island, Worm Isle, or the Harpy Watch. They are larger and could be used as a launching base, or a replenishing stop. It would be a four to six months journey to Jelin Hardir.”
“Would the local Gish not bother with us landing there?” Glen asked.
“How many could they be? Hah.” Doris Alden grinned.
“Tens of thousands. Much more than that if the tides were favorable in the centuries since the wyverns last visited,” Mirthral replied. “In the hundreds even. The isles are pretty big, this map isn’t to scale Master Alden.”
“I’ll be damned,” a stunned Doris exclaimed. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Why not use their docks?” Glen probed, not bothered with the fascinated former Duke.
“They are Gish?” The Zilan officer furrowed his brows. “They don’t really bother with infrastructure Hardir.”
“How do they leave their fucking islands then?”
“They don’t? Unless they make it randomly,” Mirthral elucidated. “Or they are brought over.”
It made sense.
“Say, we find a place to setup something to repair and restock the fleet, what’s next?” Glen grunted.
“We shot for Hissing Corals Cay,” Mirthral explained and drew the stick across the blue expanse of water at a tiny spot on the map.” Glen hadn’t been able to read up until then.
“Aha. And these are again not in scale?”
“Not really. These are tiny atolls, coral reefs. We could make a stop there, but it will be brief unless we throw recourses to make something of the old base.”
“When you say old?”
“Abandoned for centuries. Don’t expect to find much there Hardir. The biggest atoll is three kilometers in width reportedly.”
Yep.
“Assume we succeed in that… why are they called hissing cays?” Glen asked approaching the map to better see their shape.
“Nevarth found a Harpy there,” Mirthral replied sheepishly. “It’s a funny old tale Hardir.”
“What’s a Harpy?” Glen asked.
“A winged woman,” Doris replied instead. “Lorian mythology has them in the semi-divine creatures birthed from the Others. The latter is a prehistoric pantheon of gods your grace.” He added in response to Glen’s critical stare.
Glen smacked his lips and set his eyes on Turtle Isles. Another unknown place. “What about this one? It has some markings and names on it.”
“These are the Turtle Isles,” Doris explained. “A pirate haven of sorts on their southern shores, semi-independent, semi-disputed, under the control of Regia’s south coast cities until recently, when Baron Nattas was given control of them for services to the throne.”
“What type of services?” Glen asked and Doris grimaced seemingly uncomfortable with the topic.
“He may… probably bed the Queen Regent,” Doris grunted through his teeth.
“Doris, you don’t have to go into so much detail,” Cinna intervened.
“Better to get everything out Laius. Excise the rot whilst there’s still time,” the former Duke retorted stiffly.
“Right. Do we not have an agreement with him for years?” Glen asked, not really bothered with the distant salacious gossip.
“Mister Nattas and his associates can make sure our goods are delivered, falsify the absence of taxation and redistribute them to the markets under assumed names using existing infrastructure—”
“Why… Nattas, you son of a bitch!” A wild-eyed Doris exploded irate. “That lying dog was guilty all along!”
“Doris just calm down,” Laius said, and grabbed the frothing at the mouth human in order to drag him away from the table. “You’re making a scene.”
Glen puffed out, scrunching his nose a little perturbed and then stared at the half-amused Luvon. “Go on friend,” he told the mirthful banker.
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Two hours after the meeting was over and he authorized Lanthdor’s pathfinding mission, Glen had a brief early meal and then retired to the hall of paintings behind the throne room, in order to rest uninterrupted. He’d a headache from talking logistics and financial plans with Luvon and Cinna, while his mind was also on his adventures with the comely healer that had come to an unsatisfying conclusion.
With Whisper around, this route is dead and unprofitable, Glen thought sadly and sipped from his wine. The Monarch’s eyes strayed to his armour, left for him at a table nearby. He’d discarded it to wear the outfit Inis-Mir had ordered made for him, along with some of his weapons and the Wyvern’s Tongue that Moira had noticed in their previous meeting. It would have given Glen away as it was a very exotic weapon to carry around. Hearing commotion, Glen turned his head to watch Sir Alan Kirk enter from the half-hidden door and approach the resting in the leather-dressed armchair Monarch.
“Lithoniela wanted another meeting,” the knight informed him.
“Uhm,” Glen murmured.
“Cinna brought up the matter of wages again,” Alan continued and removed his helm to place it on the table across from Glen.
“Luvon complains that if we force Metu to use paid laborers we’ll bankrupt the kingdom, afore we rebuild half of Ani Ta-Ne.”
“Mussel is an expensive endeavor as well,” Alan noted.
“The prisoners will work until it’s fully completed,” Glen told him.
“Luvon wanted to talk to you about the commemorative coins as well, but the meeting dragged long and didn’t have the chance. It was on yesterday’s agenda.”
“I had matters to attend to yesterday Alan,” Glen replied.
“Of course my lord.”
“What has Luvon planned?”
“A series of coins depicting the Monarch, or the princess’ face,” Alan said and sat back on the chair to stretch.
“We can’t have my face used,” Glen retorted thinking of his scheme. “For security reasons.”
“Ahm. Alright, we could use the mask as a symbol, although the princess doesn’t have one,” Alan suggested.
“I’m not comfortable with plastering my daughter’s face on coins Alan. There are a lot of perverts out there!” Glen grunted.
“Just her name then? It would raise their value without using more carats milord,” Alan countered with a frown.
“Luvon said that? How many coins does he intend to mint?”
“About a million.”
Glen blinked. “We have so much gold in reserve?”
“About four times that,” Alan replied without batting an eyelash.
“How much will it cost to rebuild Ani Ta-Ne, or finish the rest of our projects?” An astounded Glen probed.
“More than that,” the knight replied. “According to Luvon. Twice that if Elwuin’s improvements to the road system are implemented and you have Rybel’s navy projects to consider. Humans won’t work for free milord and the slave market can’t be our first priority in order to replenish the workforce. You can tolerate it, but accepting it shall make us a pariah and no better than the Horselords.” Or your late wife’s Cofols, Glen added what the knight had avoided to mention. “The Zilan are already compensated twice as much as the human crews by the way. Your grace needs to balance that.”
Sure, I’ll just add a Zilan riot to my problems, Glen thought. Good luck explaining to these vain cretins they are to be treated like humans. I may lose body parts to make the trade work.
“I can now see how the Sopat got so filthy wealthy!” Glen groaned in frustration.
“The trade company is a great alternative source of income. Jelin has a population of millions. But it’s expensive to implement and fraught with peril.”
“Good grief! We’re so rich and yet so poor darn it!” Glen snapped angrily. “How do the rest of the Kingdoms do it?”
“My lord, Rida won’t be finished for years. And no king has ever attempted to rebuild a country this massive ever before.”
“You think, I should focus on helping Raoz?” Glen asked. “You have family there Alan?”
“In Altarin, under your uncle. At least a Reeves is still in command.”
“Um. Victor betrayed the Duke of Raoz, and tried to kill me,” Glen murmured. “He’s a scumbag Alan.”
“Perhaps the Monarch should focus on righting the wrongs milord?”
Glen smiled tiredly. “I can’t open a front we just closed my friend,” he replied. “To remove Victor we need to deal with the Khanate properly.”
“Perhaps we should do that Milord? Queen Elsanne would need our assistance,” the knight suggested and Glen shook his head disappointed with people always advocating for conflict. “You are a Reeves sire.” Sir Kirk pointed out.
No more than you are, Glen thought, his mind on the rotting corpse the sea had washed ashore that night.
“We are helping Elsanne already,” Glen reminded the serious knight. “At some point we might need to assist her more, but only if it’s in Wetull’s best interests Alan. Let us solve one problem afore we create a new one. One problem at a time. War isn’t always the answer.”
“Lord Reeves knows best,” a smiling Alan yielded with a nod.
Glen wasn’t as certain about that, but he agreed with the knight’s words.
“Hey,” the Monarch asked the standing up to give him some privacy Sir Kirk. “Was there a brief earthquake yesterday?”
Sir Kirk furrowed his brows. “Not that I noticed sire.”
“Could you have missed it?” Glen insisted. “It happened in the center of Taras almost.”
“I don’t believe I would have sire,” the knight replied adamantly. “No one reported an earthquake. Brief, or otherwise. You can’t really miss that your grace.”
“Obviously,” Glen grunted and rubbed his face troubled.
What in the slovenly fuck was that then? He wondered. Surely I didn’t dream about it. A man had his cranium cracked open with a plaguing brick fer crying out loud!
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Glen’s tired eyes settled on one of Sen-Iv’s portraits hanged from the walls for a while after Sir Alan’s departure. The emotional moment dragged until a familiar whisper murdered it. The dagger’s voice tomblike and very distant.
Who else was around? The Wyvern’s Tongue queried.
Ugh? Glen glared at the dagger.
So much for Lith’s teachings about when that thing talks, he thought.
Fucking bullshit. Nobody knows shit all about how truly things work!
They just pretend they do.
“Some local thugs,” Glen grunted through his teeth. “Why?”
Who else? The voice insisted.
“A Cofol healer,” Glen snapped angrily. “Why do you care?”
You should learn more, the dagger offered sounding annoyed.
“How about you suck a bag of dicks?” Glen countered equally annoyed, not liking being told what to do. “Who the fuck are you? A Djinn? A blasted Lich?”
Interesting. The dagger hissed mockingly. The buffoon is evolving into a crafty monkey.
“Mate,” a scowling Glen growled standing up. “Yer getting tossed in a hole.”
Empty threats. You’ll never rid yourself of me, the dagger hissed. Thou love talking to the wyvern whenever you fancy. Without me you’ll lose that small comfort. You don’t have a lot of friends King Garth. Sitting here in miserable solitude, without anyone to open up. An ocean of lies is swallowing you alive. Will your beastly friend even talk to you without my help I wonder?
Glen grimaced and seethed in silence, his eyes turned into narrow slits.
A Lich needs a phylactery, it’s what Gimoss used, the dagger said after a while. Seek little thief and you shall find yer lost trinkets. Here’s another one for you. Burned birch and vile smirch, your corpse sleeping in a ditch. But seek some more and maybe a road shall open, only walked in shadows.
“Where does the road lead?” Glen asked unsure as to where the dagger was going with this creepy cryptic nonsense.
It’s unimportant, the Wyvern’s Tongue replied. But you should bring me along when the time comes.
Glen licked his teeth thoughtfully for a moment. Then he turned around to walk away, but paused briefly to give a head nod towards the exotic weapon.
“Good that ye told me that,” he replied with a smirk. “Now I know what not to do, you stupid motherfucker.”